IF HERMIONE GRANGER WAS THE PROTAGONIST
by HedwigTheOwl111
Summary: If Hermione Granger, AKA smartest witch of her age, was the main character of Kotlc, more things would've gotten done. Books would be changed to six. And that's exactly what's going to happen. With some gnome protesting (GNEW) and Hermione showing the elves that humans aren't all that bad. (This is for fun ;)


**IF HERMIONE GRANGER WAS THE MAIN CHARACTER IN THIS SERIES**. SHE SHARES SOPHIE'S DIALOGUE IN SOME PARTS. THERE WILL PROBABLY LESS BOOKS. BECAUSE HERMIONE CAN GET THINGS DONE.

ONE

MISS GRANGER!" MR. SWEENEY'S nasal voice cut through Hermione's gentle, soothing music as he yanked her earbuds out by the cords. "Have you decided that you're too smart to pay attention to this information?"

Hermione looked up from behind her book and she tried not to wince as the bright fluorescents reflected off the vivid blue walls of the museum, amplifying the throbbing headache she was hiding.

"No, Mr. Sweeney," she replied, trying to ignore the glares of her now staring classmates.

"Then perhaps you can explain why you were listening to your iPod and reading instead of following along?" Mr. Sweeney held up her earbuds like they were evidence in a crime. Though to him, they probably were. He'd dragged Hermione's class to the Natural History Museum in Balboa Park, assuming his students would be excited about the all-day field trip. He didn't seem to realize that unless the giant dinosaur replicas came to life and started eating people, no one cared.

Hermione repressed a sigh, tugging on her bushy, untamable brown hair. There was no way to make Mr. Sweeney understand why she needed the music to cancel the noise. He couldn't even hear the noise.

Chatter from dozens of tourists echoed off the fossil-lined walls and splashed around the cavernous room. But their mental voices were the real problem.

Scattered, disconnected pieces of thoughts broadcast straight into Hermione's brain—like being in a room with hundreds of TVs blaring different shows at the same time. They sliced into her consciousness, leaving sharp pains in their wake.

She was a freak.

It'd been her secret—her burden—since she fell and hit her head when she was five years old. She'd tried blocking the noise. Tried ignoring it. Nothing helped. And she could never tell anyone. They wouldn't understand.

"Since you've decided you're above this lecture, why don't you give it?" Mr. Sweeney asked. He pointed to the enormous orange dinosaur with a duckbill in the center of the room. "Explain to the class how the Lambeosaurus differs from the other dinosaurs we've studied."

Hermione straightened as she smoothed her skirt. This, at least, was something she knew from her encyclopedia. As she recited the facts, Mr. Sweeney's face twisted into a sneer and she could hear her classmates' thoughts grow increasingly sour. They weren't exactly fans of their resident child prodigy. They called her Curvebuster. When she finished Mr. Sweeney grumbled something that sounded like "know-it-all" as he stalked off to the exhibit in the next room over. Hermione didn't follow. The thin walls separating the two rooms didn't block the noise, but they muffled it. She grabbed what little relief she could, and returned to her book

But before she could read a page, Gillian Chang, a fellow class mate shoved past her. "Nice job," she sneered. "Maybe they'll write another article about you. 'Rabbit Prodigy Teaches Class About the Lame-o-saurus.'"

And with that Gillian bucked her teeth, while raising a quivering, eager hand in the air, while hopping on her toes. Gillian's friends gave a shriek of laughter, other classmates joining in.

Hermione covered her flushed face with her book, her eyes darting across the page, not actually reading it. Ignore them, she reminded herself. She knew Gillian was still bitter Yale had offered her a full scholarship, and her rejection letter had arrived a few weeks before. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

Not that Hermione was allowed to go.

Sure, her parents was incredibly proud, but they said it was too much attention, too much pressure, and she was too young. She was better off attending the much closer, much smaller San Diego City College next year—a fact some annoying reporter found newsworthy enough to post in the local paper the day before—child prodigy chooses city college over ivy league—complete with her junior photo. Her parents was quite pleased and proud of her daughter but also quite unhappy. Half of their rules were to keep Hermione away from "unnecessary attention". The editor seemed equally unhappy. The story was run in place of an article on the arsonist terrorizing the city— and they were still trying to figure out how the mistake had happened. Bizarre fires with white-hot flames and smoke that smelled like burnt sugar took priority over everything. Especially a story about an unimportant little girl most people went out of their way to ignore.

Or, they used to.

Across the museum, Hermione's eyes caught sight of a tall, dark- haired boy reading yesterday's newspaper with the embarrassing black-and-white photo of her on the front. Then he looked up and stared straight at her.

She'd never seen eyes that particular shade of teal, like the smooth pieces of sea glass she'd found on the beach—and they were so bright they glittered. Something flickered across his expression when he caught her gaze. Disappointment?

Before she could decide what to make of it, he shrugged off the display he'd been leaning against and closed the distance between them.

The smile he flashed belonged on a movie screen, and Hermione thought he was rather flattering.

"Is this you?" he asked, pointing to the picture.

Hermione nodded. He was probably fifteen, and by far the cutest boy she'd ever seen So why was he talking to her? "Yes."

"I thought so." He squinted at the picture, then back at her. "I didn't realize your eyes were brown."

"Erm, yeah, they are," she answered, not sure what to say, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"

He shrugged. "No reason."

Something felt off about the conversation, but she couldn't figure out what it was. And she couldn't place his accent. Kind of British, but different somehow. Crisper? Which bothered her—but she didn't know why.

"Are you in this class?" she asked, wishing she could suck the words back as soon as they left her mouth. Of course he wasn't in her class. She'd never seen him before. She wasn't used to talking to boys.

His perfect smile returned as he told her, "No." Then he pointed to the hulking greenish figure they were standing in front of. An Albertosaurus, in all its giant, lizardesque glory. "Tell me something. Do you really think that's what they looked like? It's a little absurd, isn't it?"

"Not really," Hermione said, trying to see what he saw. It looked like a small T. rex: big mouth, sharp teeth, ridiculously short arms. Seemed fine to her. "Why? What do you think they looked like?"

He laughed. "Never mind. I'll let you get back to your class. It was nice to meet you, Hermione."

He turned to leave just as two classes of kindergartners barreled into the fossil exhibit. The crushing wave of screaming voices was enough to knock Hermione back a step. But their mental voices were a whole other realm of pain.

Kids' thoughts were stinging, high-pitched needles—and so many at once was like an angry porcupine attacking her brain. Sophie closed her eyes as her hands darted to her head, rub- bing her temples to ease the stabbings in her skull. Then she remembered she wasn't alone.

She glanced around to see if anyone noticed her reaction and locked eyes with the boy. His hands were at his forehead, and his face wore the same pained expression she imagined she'd had only a few seconds before.

"Did you just . . . hear that?" he asked, his voice hushed. She felt the blood drain from her face.

He couldn't mean . . .

It had to be the screaming kids. They created plenty of racket on their own. Shrieks and squeals and giggles, plus sixty or so individual voices chattering away.

Voices.

She gasped and took another step back as her brain solved her earlier problem.

She could hear the thoughts of everyone in the room. But she couldn't hear the boy's distinct, accented voice unless he was speaking.

His mind was totally and completely silent.

She didn't know that was possible.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

His eyes widened. "You did—didn't you?" He moved closer, leaning in to whisper. "Are you a Telepath?"

She flinched. The word made her skin itch.

And her reaction gave her away.

"You are! I can't believe it," he whispered.

Hermione backed toward the exit, holding up her encyclopedia like it was a weapon. She wasn't about to reveal her secret to a total stranger.

"It's okay," he said, holding out his hands as he moved closer, like she was some sort of wild animal he was trying to calm. "You don't have to be afraid. I'm one too."

Hermione froze.

"My name's Fitz," he added, stepping closer still. Fitz? What kind of a name was Fitz?

She studied his face, searching for some sign that this was all part of a joke.

"I'm not joking," he said, like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Maybe he did.

She wobbled on her feet.

She'd spent the past seven years wishing she could find someone else like her—someone who could do what she could. Now that she'd found him, she felt like the world had tilted sideways.

He grabbed her arms to steady her. "It's okay, Sophie. I'm here to help you. We've been looking for you for twelve years."

Twelve years? And what did he mean by "we"? Better question: What did he want with her? The walls closed in and the room started to spin. Air.

She needed air.

She jerked away and bolted through the door, stumbling as her shaky legs found their rhythm.

She sucked in giant breaths as she ran down the stairs in front of the museum. The smoke from the fires burned her lungs and white bits of ash flew in her face, but she ignored them. She wanted as much space between her and the strange boy as possible.

"Hermione, come back!" Fitz shouted behind her.

She picked up her pace as she raced through the courtyard at the base of the steps, past the wide fountain and over the grassy knolls to the sidewalk. No one got in her way—everyone was inside because of the poor air quality. But she could still hear his footsteps gaining on her.

"Wait," Fitz called. "You don't have to be afraid."

She ignored him, pouring all her energy into her sprint and fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder to see how far back he was. She made it halfway through a crosswalk before the sound of screeching tires reminded her she hadn't looked both ways.

Her head turned and she locked eyes with a terrified driver struggling to stop his car before it plowed right over her.

She was going to die.

THE NEXT SECOND WAS A BLUR.

The car swerved right—missing Hermione by inches—then jumped the curb and sideswiped a streetlight. The heavy steel lantern cracked from its base and plummeted toward Sophie.

No!

It was her only thought as her instincts took over.

Her hand shot into the air, her mind pulling strength from somewhere deep in her gut and pushing it out through her fingertips. She felt the force collide with the falling lantern, gripping on like it was an extension of her arm.

As the dust settled she looked up, and gasped.

The bright blue lantern floated above her, somehow held up by her mind. It didn't even feel heavy, though she was sure it weighed a ton.

"Put it down," a familiar, accented voice warned, bringing her out of her trance.

She shrieked and dropped her arm without thinking. The streetlight hurtled toward them.

"Watch out!" Fitz shouted, yanking her out of the way a split second before the lantern crashed to the ground. The force of the impact knocked them over, and they tumbled to the side- walk. Fitz's body broke her fall as she landed across his chest.

Time seemed to stop.

She stared into his eyes—eyes that were now stretched as wide as they could go—trying to sort through the flurry of thoughts and questions swirling around in her head to find something coherent.

"How did you do that?" he whispered.

"I have no idea." She sat up, replaying the past few seconds in her mind. Nothing made sense.

"We need to get out of here," Fitz warned, pointing to the driver, who was staring at them like he'd witnessed a miracle. "He saw," she gasped, feeling her chest tighten with panic.

Fitz pulled her to her feet as he got up. "Come on, let's get out of sight."

She was too overwhelmed to figure out a plan on her own, so she didn't resist when he dragged her down the street.

"Which way?" he asked when they reached the first intersection.

She didn't want to be alone with him, so she pointed north, toward the San Diego Zoo, where there was sure to be a crowd—even during a firestorm.

They took off running, though no one was following, and for the first time in her life, Hermione missed hearing thoughts. She had no idea what Fitz wanted—and it changed everything. Her mind ran through terrifying scenarios, most of which involved government agents throwing her into dark vans to run experiments on her. She watched the road, ready to bolt at the first sign of anything suspicious.

They reached the zoo's massive parking lot, and Sophie relaxed when she saw people outside, milling around their cars. Nothing would happen with so many witnesses. She slowed her pace to a walk.

"What do you want?" she asked when she caught her breath.

"I'm here to help you, I promise."

His voice sounded sincere. Didn't make it easier to believe him, though.

"Why were you looking for me?" She demanded, more than a little afraid of the answer.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to tell you."

"How am I supposed to trust you if you won't answer my questions?"

He considered that for a second. "Okay, fine—but I don't know much. My father sent me to find you. We've been looking for a specific girl your age, and I was supposed to observe and report back to him, like always. I wasn't sup- posed to talk to you." He frowned, like he was disappointed with himself. "I just couldn't figure you out. You don't make sense."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're . . . different from what I expected. Your eyes really threw me off."

"What's wrong with my eyes?" She touched her eyelids, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"We all have blue eyes. So when I saw them, I figured we had the wrong girl again. But we didn't." He looked at her with something like awe. "You're really one of us."

She stopped and held up her hands. "Hang on. What do you mean, 'one of us'?"

He glanced over his shoulder, frowning when he spotted a crowd of fanny-pack-wearing tourists within earshot. He pulled her toward a deserted corner of the parking lot, ducking behind a dark green minivan.

"Okay—there's no easy way to explain this, so I'm just going to say it. We're not human, Hermione."

For a second she was too stunned to speak. Then a hysterical laugh escaped her lips. "Not human," she repeated, shaking her head. "Of course."

"Where are you going?" he asked as she moved toward the sidewalk.

"You're insane—and I'm insane for trusting you." She kicked the ground as she stomped away.

"I'm telling the truth," he called. "Just think for a minute, Hermione."

The last thing she wanted to do was listen to another word he said, but the plea in his voice made her stop and face him.

"Can humans do this?"

He closed his eyes, and vanished. He was only gone for a second, but it was enough to leave her reeling. She leaned against a car, feeling everything spin around her.

"But I can't do that," she argued, taking deep breaths to clear her head.

"You have no idea what you can do when you set your mind to it. Think of what you did with that pole a few minutes ago."

He seemed so sure—and it almost made sense. But how could that be?

And if she wasn't human . . . what was she?

SO . . . WHAT?" HERMIONE MANAGED TO SAY when she finally found her voice. "You're saying I'm . . . an alien?"

She held her breath. Fitz erupted into laugher.

Her cheeks grew warm, but she was also relieved. She didn't want to be an alien.

"No," he said when he'd managed to compose himself. "I'm saying you're an elf."

An elf.

The word hung in the air between them—a foreign object that didn't belong.

"An elf," she repeated. Visions of little people in tights with pointy ears danced through her brain, and she couldn't help giggling.

"You don't believe me."

"Did you really expect me to?"

"I guess not." He ran his hands through his hair, making it stick out in wavy spikes—kind of like a rock star.

Could someone that good looking be crazy?

"I'm telling you the truth, Hermione. I don't know what else to say."

"Okay," she agreed. If he refused to be serious, so would she. "Fine. I'm an elf. Am I supposed to help Frodo destroy the ring and save Middle-earth? Or do I have to make toys in the North Pole?"

He let out a sigh—but a smile hid in the corners of his mouth. "Would it help if I showed you?"

"Oh, sure—this ought to be good."

She folded her arms as he pulled out a slender silver wand with intricate carvings etched into the sides. At the tip, a small, round crystal sparkled in the sunlight.

"Is that your wand?" she couldn't resist asking, and eyed it with awe.

He rolled his eyes. "Actually, it's a pathfinder." He spun the crystal and locked it into place with the silver latch at the top. "Now, this can be dangerous. Do you promise you'll do exactly what I tell you to do?"

Her smile faded. "That depends. What do I have to do?"

"You need to take my hand and concentrate on holding on. And by concentrate, I mean you can't think about anything else—no matter what happens. Can you do that?"

"Why?"

"Do you want proof or not?"

She wanted to say no—he couldn't actually prove anything.

What was he going to do, whisk her away to some magic elf land?

But she was curious. . . .

And, really, what harm could come from holding someone's hand?

She willed her palms not to sweat as their fingers laced together. Her heart did that stupid fluttery thing again, and her hand tingled everywhere their skin touched.

He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the parking lot again. "Okay, we're alone. We go on three. You ready?"

"What happens at three?"

He shot her a warning look, and she scowled at him. But she bit her tongue and concentrated on holding his hand, ignoring her racing heart.

Hermione mentally kicked herself. Honestly—when had she become one of those silly girls?

"One," he counted, raising the wand. Sunlight hit a facet in the crystal and a bright beam refracted toward the ground.

"Two." He tightened his grip. Hermione closed her eyes. "Three."

Fitz pulled her forward, and the warm tingling in her hand shot through her body—like a million feathers swelling underneath her skin, tickling her from the inside out. She fought off a giggle and concentrated on Fitz—but where was he? She knew she was clinging to him, but it felt like her body had melted into goo, and the only thing keeping her from oozing away was a blanket of warmth wrapped around her. Then, faster than the blink of an eye, the warmth faded, and she opened her eyes.

Her mouth fell open as she tried to take it all in. She might have even squeaked.

She stood at the edge of a glassy river lined with tall palm trees, fanning out their wide emerald leaves. Across the river, was a path that led into a sprawling city, where the elaborate domed buildings seemed to be made out of jewels-each structure a different color.

Places this beautiful weren't supposed to exist, much less appear out of thin air.

"You can let go of my hand now."

Hermione jumped. She'd forgotten about Fitz.

Her hand released his, and as the blood tingled in her fingertips, she realized how hard she'd been squeezing. She looked around, unable to make sense of anything she saw. "Where are we?"

"Our capital. We call it Eternalia, but you might have heard it called Shangri-la before."

"Shangri-la," she repeated, shaking her head. "Shangri-la is real?"

"All of the Lost Cities are real—but not how you'd picture them, I'm sure. Human stories rarely get anything right— think of all the ridiculous things you've heard about elves."

She had to laugh at that—and the sharp burst of sound echoed off the trees. It was so quiet there, just the gentle breeze brushing her face and the soft murmur of the river. No traffic, no chatter, no hammering, unspoken thoughts. She could get very used to the silence. But it felt strange, too. Like something was missing.

"Where is everyone?" she asked, rising on her tiptoes to get a better view of the city. The streets were a ghost town.

Fitz pointed to a domed building that towered over all the others. The green stones of its walls looked like giant emer- alds, but for some reason the building sparkled less than all the others. It looked like a serious place, for serious things. "See the blue banner flying? That means a tribunal is in progress. Everyone's watching the proceedings."

"A tribunal?"

"When the Council—basically our royalty—holds a hearing to decide if someone's broken a law, so they're usually busy."

She tried to wrap her mind around the idea, tried to force it to make sense. "So," she said, gripping onto her satchel, and her sanity. "How did we get here, when five minutes ago we were in San Diego?"

He held the pathfinder up to the sun, casting a ray of light onto his hand. "Light leaping. We hitched a ride on a beam of light that was headed straight here."

"That's impossible," Hermione informed him.

"Is it?"

"Of course," Hermione replied, straightening. "You need infinite energy for light travel. Haven't you heard of the theory of relativity?" She asked shrewdly.

She was sure she had him stumped with that one, but he just laughed, which only made her worried more. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Who came up with that?"

Hermione rubbed her clammy hands. "Albert Einstein, of course."

"Huh. Never heard of him. But he was wrong."

He'd never heard of Albert Einstein? The theory of relativity was dumb?

She wasn't sure how to argue. He seemed so ridiculously confident—it was unnerving.

"Concentrate harder this time," he said as he grabbed her hand again.

She closed her eyes and waited for the warm feather sensation. But this time it was like someone turned on a hair dryer and sent the feathers scattering in a million directions—until another force wrapped around her and pulled everything back together like a giant rubber band. A second later she was shiver- ing from a cold ocean breeze whipping her hair around her face.

Fitz pointed to the massive castle in front of them, which glowed like the stones were carved from moonlight. "How do you think we got here?"

Words failed her. It really had felt like the light passed through her, pulling her along with it. But she couldn't bring herself to say it, because if that was true, every science book she'd read was wrong. And that very thought frightened her.

"You look confused," he observed.

"Well, it's like you're saying, 'Hey, take everything you've ever learned about anything and throw it away.'"

"Actually, that is what I'm saying." He flashed a smug grin. "Humans do the best they can—but their minds can't begin to comprehend the complexities of reality."

"And what, elves' minds are better?"

"Of course. Why do you think you're so far ahead of your class? The slowest elf can still trump a human—even one with no proper education."

Her shoulders sagged as Fitz's words sank in.

If he was right, she was just some stupid girl who knew nothing about anything.

No—not a girl. An elf.

THE SCENERY BLURRED—BUT WHETHER IT was from tears or panic Hermione couldn't be sure. Everything she knew was wrong. Her entire life was a lie.

Fitz nudged her arm. "Hey. It's not your fault. You believed what they taught you—I'm sure I'd have done the same thing. But it's time you knew the truth. This is how the world really works. It's not magic, either," he added. "It's just how it is."

The castle bells chimed, and Fitz yanked her behind a large rock as a gateway opened. Two elves with floor-length velvet capes draped over their black tunics emerged, followed by dozens of bizarre creatures marching in military formation down the rocky path. They were at least seven feet tall and wore only black pants, leaving their thick muscles prominently on display. With their flat noses and coarse gray skin, which fell in pleated folds, they looked part alien, part armadillo.

"Goblins," Fitz whispered. "Probably the most dangerous creatures you'll ever meet, which is why it's a good thing they signed the treaty."

"Then why are we hiding again?" she whispered, hating her voice for trembling.

"We're dressed like humans. Humans are forbidden in the Lost Cities—especially here, in Lumenaria. Lumenaria is where all the other worlds come together. Gnomes, dwarves, ogres, goblins, trolls." She was too overwhelmed to even think about the other creatures he was mentioning, so she focused on the better question.

"Why are humans forbidden?" She wondered, keen to learn more.

He motioned for her to follow him to a rock farther away, squatting behind it. "They betrayed us. The Ancient Councillors offered them the same treaty they made with all the intelligent creatures, and they agreed. Then they decided they wanted to rule the world—like it even works that way—and started planning a war. The Ancients didn't want war, so they disappeared, forbid any contact with humans, and left them to their own devices. You can see how well that's working out for them. The stories told by the humans who'd known us must've sounded impossible after we disappeared, and eventually they evolved into the crazy myths you've heard. But this the truth, Hermione." Fitz pointed around them. "This is who you are. This is where you belong."

Where you belong. She'd waited her whole life to hear those three simple words. "I'm really an elf?" she whispered.

"Yes." Hermione peeked through the rocks at the glowing castle—a place that wasn't supposed to exist but was somehow right in front of her. Everything he was telling her was insane. But she knew it was true—she could feel it. Like a crucial piece of her identity had clicked into place.

"Okay," she decided, her head spinning in a thousand directions. "I believe you."

A loud clang sounded as another gate closed. Fitz stepped out of the shadows and pulled out a different wand—no, pathfinder—sleek and black with a cobalt blue crystal. "Ready to go home?"

Home.

The word jolted her back to reality. Mr. Sweeney would call her mom when she didn't get on the bus. She needed to get home before her mom freaked. Her heart sank a little. Reality seemed so bland and boring after everything she'd seen. Still, she took his hand and stole one last look at the incredible view before the blinding light swept it away.

THE SMOKY ASH STUNG HER lungs after the crisp, fresh air of Eternalia. Hermione looked around, surprised she recognized the plain square houses on the narrow, tree-lined street. They were a block away from her house. She decided not to ask how he knew where she lived.

Fitz coughed and glared at the sky. "You'd think humans could handle putting out a few fires before the smoke pollutes the whole planet."

"They're working on it," she said, feeling a strange need to defend her home. "Plus, these aren't normal fires. The arsonist used some sort of chemical when he started them, so they're burning white hot, and the smoke smells sweet."

Usually, wildfires made the city smell like barbecue. This time it was more like melting cotton candy—which was actually kind of nice, if it didn't burn her eyes and rain ash. "Arsonists." Fitz shook his head. "Why would anyone want to watch the world burn?"

"I don't know," she admitted. She'd asked herself the same question, and she wasn't sure there was an answer.

Fitz pulled the silver pathfinder out of his pocket. "Are you leaving?" she asked, hoping he didn't notice the way her voice hitched. "I have to find out what my dad wants to do now—if he even knows. Neither of us thought you were going to be the girl."

The girl. Like she was someone important. If she could hear his thoughts, she'd know what he meant. But his mind was still a silent mystery. And she still had no idea why.

"He's not going to be happy I took you to our cities," he added, "even though I was careful no one saw us. So please don't tell anyone about anything I've shown you today."

"I won't. I promise." She held his gaze so he'd know she meant it. He released the breath he'd been holding.

"Thank you. And make sure you act normal so your family doesn't suspect anything." She nodded—but she had to ask one question before he left.

"Fitz?" She squared her shoulders for courage, voicing the thought she was wondering. "Why can't I hear your thoughts?"

The question knocked him back a step. "I still can't believe you're a Telepath."

"Aren't all elves Telepaths?"

"No. It's a special ability. One of the rarer ones. And you're only twelve, right?"

"I'll be thirteen in six months," she corrected, not liking the way he'd said 'only'.

"That's really young. They said I was the youngest to manifest, and I didn't start reading minds until I was thirteen."

She frowned. "But . . . I've been hearing thoughts since I was five."

"Five?" He said it so loud it reverberated off the houses, and they both scanned the street to make sure no one was around. "You're sure?" he whispered.

"Positive." Waking up in the hospital after she hit her head wasn't the kind of moment she could forget. She was hooked up to all kinds of crazy machines, with her mother hovering over her, shouting things she could barely separate from the voices filling her mind. All she could do was cry and hold her head and try to explain what was happening to a group of adults who didn't understand—who would never understand. No one could make the noise go away, and the voices had haunted her ever since.

"Is that wrong?" she asked, not liking the worry etched between his brows.

"I have no idea." His eyes narrowed, like was trying to see inside her head. "What are you doing?"

"Are you blocking me?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"I don't even know what that is." She stepped away, wishing the extra space could stop him from reading her private thoughts.

"It's a way to keep Telepaths out. Kind of like putting a wall around your mind."

Hermione said, tugged on her bushy hair. "Is that why I can't hear you?"

"Maybe. Can you tell me what I'm thinking right now?"

"I told you, I don't hear your thoughts the way I do with other people."

"That's because humans have weak minds—but that's not what I meant. If you listen, can you hear me?"

"I . . . don't know. I've never tried to read a mind before."

"You just have to trust your instincts. Concentrate. You'll know what to do. Try." She hated being bossed around—especially since he wasn't answering her questions.

Then again, what he wanted her to do might be the only way to find out why he looked so concerned. She just had to figure out what he meant by "listen." She didn't have to tell her ears to hear—they just did. But listening took action. She had to concentrate. Maybe mind reading worked the same way—like an extra sense. She focused on his forehead, imagining that she was stretching out her consciousness like a mental shadow, feeling for his thoughts.

After a second Fitz's voice swept through her head. It wasn't sharp or loud like human thoughts, more of a soft whisper brushing across her brain.

"You've never felt a mind as quiet as mine?" she blurted.

"You heard me?" He looked pale. "Was I not supposed to?"

"No one else can." She needed a few seconds to process that. "And you can't read my mind?"

He shook his head. "Not even when I try my hardest."

"Why?" she demanded, a whole new world of worries pressed down on her shoulders. She didn't want to be different from the other elves

"I have no idea. But when you pair it with your eyes, and where you live—" He stopped, like he was afraid he'd said too much, then fumbled with the crystal on his pathfinder.

"I need to ask my dad."

"Wait—you can't leave now." Not when she had more questions than answers.

"I have to. I've already been gone too long—and you need to get home." She knew he was right. She didn't want to get in trouble. But her knees still shook as he held the crystal to the sunlight.

He was her only link to the amazing world she'd seen—the only proof that she hadn't imagined the whole thing.

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Of course. I'll be back tomorrow."

"How will I find you then?"

He flashed a small smile. "Don't worry. I'll find _you_."


End file.
